The Sonnets

O! for my sake do you with Fortune chide,

The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,

That did not better for my life provide

Than public means which public manners breeds.

Thence comes it that my name receives a brand,

And almost thence my nature is subduʼd

To what it works in, like the dyerʼs hand:

Pity me, then, and wish I were renewʼd;

Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink,

Potions of eisel ʼgainst my strong infection;

No bitterness that I will bitter think,

Nor double penance, to correct correction.

Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye,

Even that your pity is enough to cure me.